You're My Freedom
by SummerTime16-Backup
Summary: Zachary Goode thinks there's no purpose in life. Living in a juvenile detention school since he was thirteen didn't help the hatred he had for fate or whatever it is that controls our lives. But then he met Cameron Morgan. The girl that will be living in his school for the next year with her uncle while her parents are away. (Full Detailed Summary Inside) T- Language. Zach's POV
1. Full Summary and Prologue

********SummerTime here. My other account isn't working and hasn't been for a while now. IDK why it's malfunctioning, but it is. So that's why I haven't been updating my books.*******

 **Visit my profile** _if you're interested in my social connections and if you want to know more info on my updates on my other books and how I'm going to do that. Also, as always, feel free to PM me on this account until I get the other one working again_ ** _._**

 **A/N:** **VERY IMPOPRTANT**

 **THIS BOOK IS DIFFERENT TO OTHERS SO DON'T GET CONFUSED IF SOMETHING DOESN"T MAKE SENSE.**

You

*Warning **: Swearing.**  
** _Warning_ **: This book is written in a guys POV**  
***Warning _:_ **_Unedited_** **.**  
**** **Warning:** **You better not copy this unless you know your blood type. I work really hard on my writing and having someone else taking as their own is not only annoying and irritating, it's plagiarism which is against the law and i will report you.**  
 **You have been warned**.

 ************Warning********- Use of strong language**

 **Disclaimer: Ally owns Blackthorne (Black Thorne), Cameron Morgan, and other characters. Location, plot, OCs, and cover belong to me.**

 **Once again_ Unedited**

 **look on my profile for updating schedule**

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FUll

Summary

Fuck life and all it has to offer. Nothing good can ever come from it.

At least, that's Zachary Goode's mind set.

His motto. Go to phrase. The one thing that keeps him stuck in his version of reality. Because ever since he was a child, that's all life was. Something that fucks you over and stabs you in the back.

So it's not a big shock when he finds himself in a school for troubled youth. In fact, it's no a surprise to him when he finds out the jury pleaded him guilty for many accounts of vandalism, sending more than a few class mates to the hospital (and not all guys either). And let's not forget about his possession of drugs and open cans of alcohol while driving at midnight with not even so much as a learners permit.

He's been in this hell hole for almost five damn years.

Black Thorne; Joe Solomon's Institute For Troubled Young Men.

He knows it's all his fault. If he had just obeyed his nutcase of a mother, maybe he would only be serving a few months or even weeks in juvy for vandalizing his school back in tenth grade.

Besides, it was just a few drawings of important male body parts here and there. Well, along with weed symbols, scattered profanities, and posters of the principal's face slapped on a naked woman's body and the wonderful phrase " likes it rough. What a naughty, naughty boy" with BASTARD written under them.

Zach would expect getting jail time for that.

But no. That damn judge sentenced him to five years at some school for 'bad kids'.

What he didn't expect though, was for his last year there to involve a short blonde girl that could barely even hurt a fly.

Mr. Solomon's niece.

 _Hot_ niece. And she was living at that very Institute while her parents went to Europe for a very important job.

He didn't expect to fall for the blushing quirky girl that happens to be obsessed with sundresses and all things mint green either. He didn't even expect her to be the freedom he never knew he wanted.

He didn't expect a lot of things when it came to Cameron Morgan.

And get this.

The quiet girl has secrets. Secrets that could very well end up with her in a coffin.

So with the help of Jonas- a very exceptional hacker, Grant- an extremely strong yet extremely dumb blonde, and Nick- a very smart, very attractive, and very... curious human, Zachary Goode is going to help the only girl who has ever made him weak at the knees into hiding. Hiding in plain sight that is. He'll teach her how to defend herself. He'll teacher her how to shoot a gun with perfection. And he'll help her free herself from the cage Cameron trapped herself in so many years back.

Because after all. She's his freedom. It's only fair that he returns the gesture.

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 **~5 Years ago. My sentence to... fuck, what's this place called again?** ~

(Prologue)

•~|~•

I was in tattered dark jeans and green T. Not dressed in khakis like the lawyer sitting next to me. Mom insisted I have one. When I told her I was man enough to take whatever the judge could give me, she had a mental breakdown. I felt bad for her. The woman was ditched by her no good ex-boyfriend (also the man half my chromosomes came from) and now her son is leaving her too. So I held her hand while she cried and did everything my 13 year old self could do.

Nothing.

Seeing your Mother cry when your thirteen is possibly the worst thing that could ever happen to ones tween self. You're already going through an awkward stage. Why the hell would you need a grown crying woman on top of that?

So here I am, sitting behind a table and in front of a jury and judge, waiting with some random dude I didn't even knew existed just to make my Mother stop crying.

 _He sweats a lot_. That's all I could think of as I stared boredly at the glossy wooden table with my right hand working as a resting spot for my chin. The judge began to speak, so I turned my mental hearing aid up just a tad. Enough for me to barely hear what the guy had to say.

"For the accounts of aggravated assault against Meredith and Micael Rounds, Elliot Fisk, Flynn and Finn Newman, Morgan Hammer, and Elliot Muse as well as two accounts of vandalism on school property and five accounts of trespassing on school property and private owned property, the court finds Zach Edward Goode guilty and is sentenced to five years at Black Thorne: Joe Solomon's Institute For Troubled Young Men. Case dismissed."

At the sound of his gavel slamming on the desk, I stood up from my seat, mock saluted the old man sitting in a big chair with a black robe, and walked out of the room with my usual 'I honestly don't give a fuck' attitude.

Because I honestly didn't.

Mom, on the other hand, went ballistic like always.

"Oh baby. _My baby_!" she cried, "Please behave yourself. I can't loose you too. Be a good boy for me." She was screaming and crying, and I'm sure the people that were gig us strange looks (everyone) were wondering if she escaped some mental hospital or were contemplating on calling one. "I'm so sorry, baby." She kept saying. People looked, I'd nod my head and kept quiet, she'd wail and cry, I'd look around and give people awkward smiles, she'd hug me, I'd wait for her to calm down enough so I could kindly ask her to take me home.

A week later, I find myself in Morgenstern, Maine in front of a huge, ginormous, humongous (and any other synonyms for 'big' you can think of) gray building. It reminded me of something you'd find in a very dramatic 1944 detective/spy movie. I could picture black-and-white men with ugly mustaches and weird glasses cutting a whole in the 30 foot fence so they didn't have to climb it and get cut my the barbed wire coiled around at the top.

I reached out to touch it. The fence wrapped around the whole school, another one connected to two parallel corners and stretched across the whole (extremely big) property. That includes the huge forest of big and small, tall and short, trees that stretched on for years.

It looked pretty damn awesome. Of course I was going to touch it.

My outstretched fingers were not even a foot away when this really crackly, high between low, Southern voice shot out of no where.

"I'm wornin' ya right now, man, that ain't a fence to mess with." I quickly withdrew my hand and spun in my heel, trying with all my 13 year old puberty brimful self to not scream and show how much the squeaky kid scared me.

"Why?" Was all I could ask as I forced my heart rate to calm down before it overheated.

The squeaky boy, I'll call him mouse, was skinny. Skinny, had freckles, red-ish blond hair, and bruises. Many, _many_ bruises. And was skinny. Like a toothpick.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Ouch. You kiss your Mama with that mouth?" He was teasing. I could tell by the smirk that crept up on his mouth.

"Of sorts." And we began laughing. I didn't even care that his was between some high bird-like screech and a manly roar. I liked the kid.

"You ain't too bad, dude. What's your name?" I told him Zach. We shook hands, and walked through the 1944 gate that revealed a cold stone path up to the front entrance.

My mom didn't bring me here. I told her to stay home. That way, I could avoid her having a breakdown in front of people I didn't even know.

"I'm Porter. My Ma and little brother call me Port. You can too."

Thus a wondrous friendship full of pranks, the framing of freaks, food fights, sneak outs, and hacking began.

All because of my sentence to-

"Fuck, what's this place called again?"

"A juvenile detention center, Moron. You've been here for a full four years and you _still_ don't know that? Mr. Overweight is right. You _are_ hopeless."

Yeah. _That_. (The detention part, not me being a moron... which is far from the truth.)

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 **A/N: This book is also on Wattpad (Hope_Faith_Grace) but is NOT Gallagher related so there will be a few changes here and there to make the story all mine. The plot is slightly different as well. So Vote on that book as well!**

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	2. Honestly How stupid can one be?

***Unedited so beware* Please tell me what you _did_ and _did not_ like about this chapter and what you think I should change or add in. Thank you.**

•~|~•

"This. _This_ is exactly why we don't bring you on these things, Grant." I whispered. We all glared at the blonde idiot whose right leg is currently dangling from room 2A's ceiling. The vent cover fell with such an intense clash that I'm surprised Drake and Bobby hadn't woken up. Mr. Overweight (his real name is Sergeant Hamilton but the man is as big as a baby elephant, hence the unoriginal secretly given name, Overweight) has been up their asses so much I think it's scared them for life. Every little noise someone or something makes results stiff backs and 'Sir yes Sir!'s. They didn't know how to be subtle with their schemes like everyone else. Mr. O didn't even give them a warning. The first time that fire alarm was pulled (how middle school of them) the fat man's tomato shaped face turned bright red ( how convenient). The man flipped, looked at the security film, and flipped again. Their punishment was ruff, but it didn't stop the two fourteen year olds from getting into any more trouble.

But finally, after two years, many pranks, attempted breakouts, and punishments, the man got it through their stupid brain-dead minds that you have to be smooth with pranks. No matter how childish they are.

And it's not the five miles he makes people run in the limited time of half an hour, or the two-hundred-fifty push-ups done every other our, or the numerous other exercises Mr. O makes you do for so much as peeing too long. You have to really know him to understand how scary he is. The man could eat you. Inhale your whole body like a vacuum. Or wormhole.

It was last month when Mr. O really pushed them. Bobby distracted while Drake tried to sneak into Mr. Stevens' office for God only knows what. Next thing you know, Drake has a broken wrist and Bobby is puking his guts out in the trash can while everyone else is running their miles.

So yeah. We were all pretty shocked but extremely relieved when the two didn't wake up. No doubt they would have called us out to take the spotlight off of them for a while.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see it there." I rolled my eyes and counted down silently with my fingers from three before we started moving again.

The metal cover was left on Bobby's side of the room. If anyone finds out, the blame is on him and no one else. And I told Grant exactly that.

"So help me, Grant if you so much as _blink_ when Sergeant Moore asks the whole wing why that thing is not connected to the ceiling, I'm killing you. Say _nothing._ Do _nothing._ " The look I gave him showed I was dead serious. We couldn't get caught. My last year here is going to be damn awesome and no twat is ruining that for me.

Grant looked back at me with a curt nod, his jaw clenched in fear.

 _Good. Fear me. Or you'll end up like Leonardo._

The boys and I slowly crawled along the vent shafts, turning like professionals as if we went through here every weekend. Which we did.

No way in hell can anyone stay sane trapped in these walls for years. Within my first month here, Porter and I went over as much as we could about how this place works. We met Jonas, who hacked in the computer system to get got the building's blue prints, and I snuck out at night to place small navy blue sticky notes at the entrance to every shaft we could use to get to the outside world. It took us the rest of that year to memorize the whole layout of this three story 520,000 square foot ugly as hobos building.

"Damn." Port muttered. Damn is never good in this type of situation. Damn is bad.

"What?" Nick crawled up next to him, muttering a quiet 'damn' himself.

We're at the North Entrance, the vent led to a fire escape staircase and out of the fenced property.

"It's blocked off."

 _Damn_.

It took us half an hour to find the North Eastern entrance, thanks to Jonas and his horrible navigation skills.

The whole time, Grant managed to 1) convince himself for a short while that crawling backwards could make him go faster, 2) discover that the vents lead to almost every room in the building, and 3) some way, some how, get lost. He was following us the whole time. My ass was literally in his face.

Honestly. How can one be so stupid?

When we actually got to the other entrance, Port quietly pushed the cover off the rectangle hole, slid out, and the rest of us followed in suit.

"Grant, I'm gonna _kill_ you." Instead of putting the metal silver cover back over the hole, he dropped the stupid object down the cement staircase. _Cement_! The loud clashes rang down the halls for at least a good six seconds while gravity did its work. We all stood, frozen in place and completely silent. So quiet, that our own heartbeats could clearly be heard in our ears.

Five minutes. We stood for _five_ minutes to make sure no one heard and was coming to check things out.

"Put the damn thing back, Jonas." Nick grumbled, his right hand running through his brown hair in pure aggravation. We trotted down the stairs, quietly but quickly before Paul, the North East Wing night guard, walked down these halls.

When we finally reached outside, I pulled Grant back into the stairwells both hands in his shoulders, and our eyes locked- mine angry and annoyed, his wide and scared.

Now don't get me wrong. Grant is a big dude, full of muscle and anger issues (one of the reasons of why he's here. Tip: Never call Grant Newman's little sister ugly and/or annoying.) So it's not like he's a weak scrawny kid. He's been here for three years, long enough for him to see that when I get angry, I get _angry_. And even to big boys like him, it's a scary thing.

"We're going to pass three guard towers," I said slowly, the way I used to talk to my mom before we left the house, reminding her to stay calm at all times, "Stay as close to the fence as you can with out touching it. If you make any noise, any _at_ _all_ , I promise you I will push your body into that metal force field and you'll find that 100 bolts of electricity will fry your insides. So basically, fuck this up and you die. Got it?" Grant furiously shook his head.

"G-got it."

We quickly caught up to the others, looking around for any guards doing patrol on the ground. Like a spy in a 1944 movie (or present day teenage girl romance/spy book found in the YA section of your local library), we stealthily dodge all the bright lights that scrounged for prey at the early hour of 12:24 AM. Hiding in dark shadows, tiptoeing around the towers with our backs pressed firmly against it, and all that shit. (If only we had a grappling hook. That'd be awesome.)

We made it to the a small door at the end of the square rocky yard with no trouble. Port punched in the code we got three years ago from Solomon's office (while he was explaining the rules and guidelines to Grant and the other new comers), and for the next four hours, we were free.

 _Finally_.

"Who's ready to get laid?" I whispered. My rare grin stretched on my face with the thought of alcohol pumping through my veins and hot chicks crawling all over me like hungry animals.

We high-fived each other, then ran down the street to a local club about a mile away.

•~|~•

"Hey, babe." I heard about an hour later. I downed my second shot by the bar in the back of the large dark and sweaty room, enjoying the burning sensation the liquid gave me, and turned to see some black haired chick with smooth milk chocolate colored skin.

 _Damn she's hot._

"Wanna dance?" Her voice was slurred yet confident, a sexy smile and mischievous glint present on her beautiful face. The apples of her cheeks rose when her smile got bigger, her red lipstick covered lips made her teeth look whiter than snow.

I said nothing, only thinking about how my ears picked up a British accent when she spoke.

Grabbing her small ring covered fingers, I pulled her to the dance floor and began grinding her to the beat of the music. I could feel myself getting turned on as we moved our bodies together, grinding each other to the point where when her hips would thrust back at me, my hormones awoke and my body began to soar with lust.

"Oh, baby." I groaned. My lips soon found her neck, and I began sucking on spots where someone else already marked.

 _Does she have a boyfriend?_ I asked myself. _Sucks for him. His girl's a whore_.

Still sucking on her skin, my eyes wandered up and I spotted Grant with some older chick a few couples away. He told me that before he got thrown in the cage, his life was full of high school parties and sex. And from what I'm witnessing as I basically eat this random girl's neck, he's no doubt a pro when it comes to seducing.

I brought my attention back to the small girl in my arms. Her right hand was squeezing my ass while the other pulled on my dark brown hair at the nape of my neck.

Not to sound cocky or anything, but she obviously wanted me as much as I wanted her. (Okay, so that was meant to sound cocky. I'm hot and I know it. Deal with it. ...Or don't. I really don't care.)

"Come on."

I dragged her skinny body through the crowed and to the scummy bathrooms. In there, two other couples were getting at it, no doubt loving the pleasure the gained from a simple dirty bathroom fuck. It wasn't exactly the most ideal place, but it was the only room that allowed people do the one thing that lets them forget about how fucked up life is.

Once we were finished, I pulled my pants over my ass and buttoned them, mock saluted the confused girl, and walked out of the disease infested bathroom.

The club was still full, probably more full that it was when we first got here. Which is pathetic really. Don't these people have lives?

I observed the bodies on the dance floor as I squeezed passed them. Some of these people liked to wear expensive brand clothing. Some girls had huge wedding rings on their fingers, others had nice necklaces, and men looked a little too dressed for a scummy place like this.

They were showing off their money even though the drunk freaks around them most likely won't even notice. The ones who do notice are either sober enough to make sure one of the bastards are practically passed out before taking their shit or they're drunk enough to think they're Superman and try to snatch a goody when the rich showoffs weren't even wasted.

When I passed a man in his thirties, I glanced up at him to make sure he was totally gone and in his own drunk universe before picking his pocket of whatever it is he stupidly put in there.

An iPhone. The idiot even stashed two hundred bucks in the phone's case.

I smirked, putting my new prize in my pocket, and made my way to the bar where Nick was chatting up some clown.

Literally.

Some girls go too far with make-up, but this one... I really have no idea what she was thinking while in her bathroom.

 _Oh. My. Gawd! I have a pimple! I have to paint three pounds of make up that is too light for my skin tone to cover up this blemish so no one realizes I'm a human with pores. What the hell. Why not put on fifty ounces of mascara to make my eyelashes look thicker and longer while I'm at it. AND! I just got this blue eyeshadow. Even though it doesn't match my dress what-so-ever, it_ must _be worn. And this lipstick!_

Girls, if this is something that doesn't go through your mind on a daily basis (or ever) I salute you. (And not a mock one either. This salute is 100% real and full of respect.)

"Nah! Those Bitches deserved it!" Nick yelled so he could be heard over the bass, "Black Thorne isn't too bad anyway! As long as you're not an idiot, you basically already have a 100% chance of surviving!" By the way he was swaying on his feet and slurring his words, monkeys would even be able to tell he was gone. The boy could barely even hold himself up and he laughed over nothing.

You'd think he worked in a hat making factory and got too much mercury on him or something. The Mad Hatter is creepy enough in both Alice in Fucked-up-land movies. I really didn't want my own personal nutcase. Unless Nick really happened to be Jonny Depp who was still in his Mad Hatter faze. The man is a master at disguise. He could dress up like a baby and have the world fooled. Anyway, Jonny is the only exception when it comes to being whacked out and plain crazy. It... suits him in a way.

"And the frog jumped of the hill doing a black flip! It's legs were flying all over the place! It looked fucking retarded!" Both my sad excuse for a friend and the clown were cracking up. Some would assume I just told them Mr. Overweight did a push-up, but that's just not the case right now. (You think that's mean, but really, when you hate someone, all their failures at life instantly become the funniest shit ever. The man can barely get out of his chair during meal breaks.)

"OMG! You're sooo funny, Rick." The blonde giggled. In my opinion, she sounded like a chipmunk.

I looked at her bleached hair _. Her hair is completely dead. How many times has she bleached it? Is that a bald spot!_ Then I realized she called Nick 'Rick' _. Rick! What is he, a banker?_ And then I looked at the beer in his hand. _Damn._

"Nick, Dude, did you go past the limit again?!" I yelled over the music. Like a parent scolding their child, I crossed my arms and shot an accusing glare that clearly stated I knew exactly what he was up to and I didn't approve of it.

We have a limit. On alcohol consumption that is. (No limits on girls. That would be pure torture. Keeping girls away from horny men is something Hitler would do.)

Three beers or two shots. That's it. If even one person is drunk, it makes it so much harder to make it back to our cold dark cell we call home. It's even more impossible trying to sneak back into the place. Last year, it was John Strat's first time tagging along with us. He was wasted beyond all measures. Not only did we almost get caught by one of the guards several times on our way through the building, but the hangover the kid had when we woke up was something he could barely hide. When questioned, it was every man for himself. No way were the rest of us getting in trouble form John's screw up.

We haven't seen John since.

But don't worry. He isn't dead. (Sadly.)

"Nah, Man. I had one beer." Nick slurred with a lopsided smile. He took one glance at the ugly Barbie (she really needs to get sent back to China. Something happened at that factory and it's not making the company look good) and leaned closer to me, "This girl has no brain cells. When you pretend to be drunk, she goes bat shit crazy. It's hilarious. Watch."

I did. And I'm glad. Because even though her laughing at Nick's slurred words and his story about pandas eating ice-cream was annoying and it made me want to cut my ears off, the girl's stomach must've not been able to handle all the shaking her giggling caused and everything in her tummy, well, it's all over him now.

Nick's eyes were wide and completely dumb-struck looking from the girl to his chest every five seconds. His mouth hung open, and with every passing second, his face got brighter from the anger he was trying to hold back.

I guess she's not _that_ annoying.

"Fuck!" The girl only giggled at his distress, "That's fucking disgusting! What the hell?!" I joined the clown in laughter, wishing I had a phone so I could take a picture of this.

Then I remembered the man, dancing and swaying too drunk to even remember his name.

Nick was yelling at the chick who was still giggling, so I took that moment of distraction and pulled out my new phone.

Click. Flash. Blackmail.

And if it couldn't get any better. Right when I snapped the picture, Barbie's ugly step sister happened to give Nick another prize. Her green and yellow barf flying through the air and onto my friend forever and ever until I decide to delete it. Which will never happen.

"BITCH!"

The girl simply walked away, totally unaware of what just happened.

I, on the other hand, was completely aware. (In case you hadn't noticed in my previous paragraphs. Which, I'm sorry but, makes you an idiot beyond all measures.)

"You're right, Nick. That _is_ hilarious. Thank you for making my night," I paused my laughing, looking the angry and disgusted boy right in the eyes, "No wait. Thank you for making my last four _years_." I slid the phone in my pocket and dropped my smile when I realized the time.

"We need to leave." I left Nick to deal with his comical conundrum by himself so I could find Grant, Jonas, and Porter.

Grant was in a pretty heated make-out session with some chick that looked twice his age when I finally found him. His arms were holding the woman up while her legs were wrapped around his waist, her short black dress risen up so that her underwear was in full view. She had black hair, long red nails, and, call me one to blow things out of proportion, but I'm pretty sure those aren't random freckles.

The woman has age spots.

 _Age_. _Spots_.

Nick either was really desperate (but thinking back to earlier when he was feeling up the hot blonde, that probably wasn't the case) or had a little too much to drink.

 _This is why we have a limit. Does she even have real teeth?_

The sight in front of of me was becoming too much to bare and I'm pretty sure, if the idiot wasn't drunk off his ass, he would rather eat puke than kiss the old fart. So, like the honorary friend I am, I took a photo (I'm on a blackmail spree) grabbed some random glass of beer, and dunked it on the two horny, drunken humans.

Grant dropped the old bat right on her ass in shock. The force made her head jolt and her top and bottom jaw crash against each other. Then something fell from her mouth.

No. No she doesn't have real teeth _. What the hell are you doing at a night club, old lady? Did your husband die?_

I looked at the dentures lying in the puddle of beer. The glue to keep them in her mouth was gunky and very blue. It was clear the glue wasn't doing its job. I think I'll sue the company _for_ her. This sight disturbed the comfortable chaos.

Grant's face probably mirrored mine. With his look of horror, I almost felt bad for the kid.

Almost.

 _Very_ important key word.

"Oh."

"My."

"Go-"

"Dude, we need to leave!" Jonas ran up to us with an almost naked Nick (who was currently wiping away imaginary puke) and a very satisfied looking Porter. Strobe lights began flashing, making it harder for us to leave the club, but after a few minutes of pushing and shoving, we were once again able to breathe in fresh air.

Being only August and in the "beginning" of "school" it was still warm so running wasn't a problem. (I quote those words because really, it isn't the beginning due to the fact we live in the jail house year round and they make us do daily runs and exercise. And it's not even a school. We learn Math and English, small parts of random history, and you can forget about Spanish. They did teach science for a while, but some group of guys got a little too good at chemistry and, well... bad things happened. Bad for the staff, that is.) And when I say running wasn't a problem, I really mean, dragging a drunk fifteen year old along while Nick was in only his boxers still looking for clown regurgitation, wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. But that didn't mean it was exactly easy either.

"Grant, move your legs, man." Jonas and I were holding Thor by his armpits, trying to pull him up to a semi-normal standing position. The five of us somehow happened to make it half way to the Institution with little problems, and we thought we were making good time, but I guess we jinxed that because right when I said 'good job, Grant, you're doing great' he bent over and threw up in a ditch. Then passed out. Which is why we're here, still twenty minutes away from the Institution, with Porter looking for any cars that might pass by and rat us out, Nick who's now probably scarred for life, Grant with a hand print on his face (from when I backhanded him to wake his sorry ass up) and Jonas and me wanting to just drag him across the stone shoulder on the road rather than hold his limp body up.

"Hold your head up!" I yelled for the umpteenth time. "Move your damn legs."

"I can't believe she threw up on me." Nick grumbled. Porter laughed and shook his head.

"Man, kissing old woman and gettin' barfed on. I missed some good stuff tonight. Though that threesome is somethin' I would never miss out on. Even if it _is_ to see ya'll at your lowest."

 _Threesome_.

I thought we never talked about our sex life. What happens in the room, stays in the room. Rule number two next to the 'three beers or two shots'.

After Grant tripped over his feet again, I rolled my eyes, pulled him a way from Jonas, and threw him over my shoulder. I was lacking a body bag, but if I had one, I'd definitely throw him in it to humor myself. Mostly because I wanted to kill him and the bag would have fit the moment.

When we finally got back to the Institute, our only obstacle left included hiding from the spotlights, avoiding the guards on four-wheelers, and getting back to our rooms with out making a sound.

The biggest problem?

"Just push him!" Porter snapped. Nick pushed Grant's ass while Port pulled the drunk's arms so they could get him further into the vent shaft.

Now, understand that we are strong guys. But when you have to be crouched into a vent so you basically look like a mental turtle, it's extremely hard to pull a two-hundred-thirty pound boy with you. Not to mention the only help you have is a traumatized seventeen year old in his boxers while the only other people who are capable of assistance have to lead the way.

Plus, I was done dealing with the drunk moron.

"I'm trying, man! He's got puke on him though! I don't want to touch it!" What a girl.

"Don't be a fucking pussy and man up. You're not even touching his chest or face anyway." Port grumbled. Jonas high-fived each other, silently agreeing, and began to crawl further and further down the shaft.

"Hey, wait up guys!" Porter must've left Nick to deal with Grant, because soon after he spoke, his body was right behind us.

"Fuck all of you!" Nicks anger was nothing but comical thanks to the fact that he had to whisper so our voices don't bounce through out the Institution.

"Nah, we got girls for that!"

•~|~•

Three hours later, Sergeant Moore's fist banged on our door as he yelled for us to get our pathetic asses up.

He sounded mad. Furious. Crazed. Whatever word you want us. The fact of the matter is, when he called for us to meet him in the training room, _just the west wing_ , I knew that either Bobby and Drake were gonners, the boys and I were done for, or Grant was gonna get it from me if he even _breathes_ incorrectly.

"You have two minutes!"

Port and I looked at each other, worry slapped onto our faces. We mine as well get our fear out now so we don't do anything or say anything stupid when we're being interrogated.

"Grant better keep his damn mouth shut," Port muttered while I made sure the new phone was hidden along with the money, "If that hangover isn't controlled, he's done and I'm not going down with him."

Grant's never been on a club night with us before. Heck, before last month, the guys and I never really spoke to him. I'm not even sure how it happened. The dude is a male version of your typical ditzy blonde Barbie. He's basically a Ken. And I hate Ken. When I was ten, and my cousin asked me to play doll with her, I took the creepy dude doll and ripped his head off.

Dude dolls are unnatural. They just are.

We got changed into our gray T-shirts and yellow sweatpants, then left the room.

Once we were all settled in the training room, eight straight long rows of tired uniformed boys standing at attention, Sergeant Moore began his questioning.

"How did you all sleep last night, Ladies!?" The man, buff, tall, and bald, had his hands folded behind his back as he walked back and fourth, eyeing us all with his dead gray orbs.

We all answered back simultaneously. "Very well, Sir." Every step the Sergeant Moore took was taunting. Our eyes were trained on him, waiting for his next question. We were completely still and,- aside from Porter, Grant, Nick, Jonas, and yours truly,- very confused.

"Was anyone up past lights out!?"

"Sir, no, Sir!"

Porter became slightly more stiff. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and saw that his blue ones were staring slightly off to the right. So I angled mine in that direction.

Grant stood between his roommate, Truman, and some other random guy who was slightly taller than the Blonde Moron's 6'4. You could tell his hangover was killing him, and this yelling was not helping one bit.

 _Make one move, Grant and so help me you will never see your sister again_.

Sergeant Moore took one last look at the rose of at least one-hundred boys then suddenly grabbed Bobby and Drake's gray T-shirt collars and pulled them to face the front.

"Anything you would like to say to me boys?" The two were shaking, their eyes visibly widening when Mr. Overweight decided to grace us with his presence.

Drake spoke first.

"Sir, we were not up after lights out, Sir!" He was so much smaller than Bobby who practically towered everyone in the room. Drake was fit, no doubt, but he wasn't nearly as built as good ole Robert Patrick. So when Mr. O walked up to them with the cover of their vent in his fat hand and a very angry facial expression, the only thing running through my mind was a scene of his large mouth opening wider than the Grand Canyon and sucking in the kid's very being.

"Then what the _hell_ was this doing on your floor?!" His head looked like it was going to pop with how red it was.

"Sir, I have no knowledge as to why it was not connected to the ceiling, Sir!" Bobby admitted.

Sergeant Moore was about to speak when the back door to the room opened and Sergeant Solomon's voice rang through.

"And this is the second training room we have here." All of our eyes snapped to where Solomon was in the back, and the already quiet atmosphere became even more silent at the realization of who he was talking to.

 _Holy fuck it's a girl._

•~|~•

•~|~•

 **A/N: Please tell me what you didn't like about this chapter. I don't feel it's my best work**

 **how am I doing on the boy's POV?**

 **anyway:**

 **Wow! I totally wasn't expecting you guys to actually like this! I didn't know if you would like, feel weird about reading a story in all Zach's POV! Thank you so much for the feed back guys! And also the 4 favorites and 12 followers! Like, HOLY CRAP!**

 **Cammie may be slightly different than what you're used to. Sure, she'll be quiet and shy like in some stories, but here, she'll have a slightly different personality to go along with the shyness.** _So, tell me how you feel about her during next few chapters._

Shout Outs **!**

 **Shadowhuntinggallaghergirl** \- Why thank you! I shall give you more!

 **Guest** \- I hope this chapter was good too!

 **Fuk-Life-Sucks-Like-Sluts000**.- OMGOSH YOU'RE AWESOME I WILL CONTINUE I PROMISE!

 **Zar** \- I hope this chapter seems good to you to.

 **Guest** -I WILL DEFINITELY CONTINUE THIS! I love you for loving it!

 **Guest** \- I really hope you think it's still exciting and has potential.

 **gsmart** \- Ahhh, the goode puns. Never gets old. Lol, hope it's still goode.

 **BooknMovieLover** -I will continue this story!

 **Lookin' For Treble** -Pft, of course I'll keep writing on here. I love fanfiction .net and love my readers even more!

 **Lovewords** -if we had a reviewing contest, yours would win by a long shot. Why can mine never be as good or wonderful?! Thank you so freaking much! I like Zach this way too. I hope in not overdoing anything though...

 **Midnight-Rose4563** -thanks for thinking it's wonderful! I will definetly continue it.

 **Please Review! I would really like feedback on this chapter**


	3. Neighbors' Cats Are Getting Stalked

**(Unedited so sorry in advance. I know how annoying typos and spelling/grammar errors are when it comes to reading so feel free to tell me to re-read this and make edits. Also, please review and tell me what you did or/and didn't like about this chapter. Feel free to give me any ideas you may have for this book- I may or may not use them. It depends because I already have a plan. Also, I know this story is moving slow, but I didn't want to get right into the whole Zammie stuff because, well, that just doesn't happen in the real world.)**

•~|~•

None of us spoke. Our eyes could only find themselves stuck on Solomon and the girl. I'm pretty sure I heard a kid with pretty severe diarrhea take a dump from room 44C at Northwest wing because of how quiet it was. Then again, Floyd and his dysentery problems could be heard in Australia.

"Hello, boys."

We all muttered a 'hello, Sir' to Solomon. A simple greeting. You'd think it'd be all over and done with and we could finish getting lectured. Joe would take this new female back to where ever she came from and be on his way.

You'd _think_.

Well you thought wrong. Why? Well there's a simple explanation: Common sense has officially fled from Grant's mind.

Really. It did. I was praying, _pleading to God,_ that there was still hope for him sometime in the near (most likely far) future. That he'd come to his senses and walk this planet with at least _one_ extra brain cell. That wish was thrown down Mount Vesuvius the moment Moron #1 opened his mouth.

" _Damn_ , you're adorable."

Here's why what he said and did was rule number one on the Scroll of Do's and Don'ts While Staying Resident in Any Detention Center Across the USofA:

When you speak out of turn and without being addressed by a Sergeant, you basically fucked yourself over to Too Young To Die's wish list. Simple as that. We're in the middle of a pretty serious lecture with two of the worst Sergeants in this Institute and he didn't even use his last words to say hot or even _smokin_ '. The imbecile just up and said _adorable_. The last guy that decided to say something out of turn almost died of cardiac arrest thanks to his over excessive workout-slash-punishment.

Sergeant Moore and Mr. O, along with everyone else, looked at Grant with a very necessary dumbfounded expression. He, of course, just stood there in the second row between Truman and What's-His-Name with a look of adoration and astonishment towards whoever this opposite gender intruder was, oblivious to the fact that Sergeant Moore was thinking of various ways to kill him while Mr. O thought about different ways to cook him. (Probably.)

Mr. O's fat body made its way over to Grant (whose eyes are now wide once he realized his mistake), his eyes cold and his jaw set. (At least I'm assuming. It's hard to tell with his double chin). The way his fists were balled up and clenched so tight they were shaking, any one could see that he was angry. There's also the fact that when he gets mad, he sweats. Like a pig. It's actually gross, and trust me, it takes a lot to make a guy grossed out. Like Floyd and his inability to shit correctly.

Mr. O shoved a bunch of boys out of the way (kind of made me think of a bear who wanted to be the first to pick from a berry bush), grabbed Grant's shoulder, and pushed him to the ground, instantly shouting orders,

"Four-hundred! Five minutes! Move!" Grant hesitated for only a second, probably contemplating whether or not he could rebel against orders, began doing his push-ups in an even pace. As he did this, I snuck a look at the individual with double X chromosomes.

Grant wasn't wrong when he said she was adorable. The girl had a scared puppy kind of expression. She seemed about as innocent as one also. Which made me wonder what she was doing at an all boys Detention Center.

She was wearing a dress that reached a little lower than her thighs with her blonde hair braided in that style that makes them look threaded (that's a good word, right?) into her head. (I think my Barbie obsessed cousin called them Dutch braids. Or English braids. I think I saw a Chinese girl with it once back when I was in public school).Solomon stood next to her, looking like a giant compared to her small figure. His face didn't have his natural expression like it usually did when I saw him. This time, his eyes were glaring daggers at my friend as he did his push-ups.

Which brings me to Moron #2.

"Geeze, Solomon. What crawled up his ass and died?" It was meant to be an under breath comment only the boys around him could hear and fake chuckle at, but Sam Haven isn't exactly a pro when it comes to being quiet. _Even_ when there's a grunting eighteen year old guy and angry yelling walrus counting each motion of punishment- _both_ overpowering the sound of jet planes. How the hell do you even do that? Being that bad of a whisperer, I mean. Mr. O's yelling isn't surprising.

"What did you just say?" Now our eyes were glued to dear ole Sammy and his scared blushing face. Solomon walked up to the kid, no more than fourteen, and leaned down to his height. A common form of mockery the Sergeant's do just to prove that when you think you're all big and tough, you really aren't.

Mr. O was at twenty five.

 _Twenty-six._

 _Twenty-seven._

Grant's doing push-ups like a girl, just like the sissy he is.

 _Thirty-two_.

Sam's Adam's apple bobbed up and down with his nervous swallow as he and Solomon stared at each other, easily ignoring Mr. O's overused and unoriginal insults.

"N-nothing, Sir." I tried to hide my smirk. The kid was pissing his pants and probably didn't even realize it.

Grant has four minutes left. Now he's moving like a grandma. One who's apparently widowed.

I'm not exactly sure what the widow part has to do with anything, but Mr. O must have thought it was enough to send the poor hung-over boy crying. (It didn't, by the way.) I don't even know why the fat man thinks he can make fun of someone who can do push-ups better than Vin Diesel. The guy breaks a sweat sitting on his ass. He has no room to make comments relating to widowed old ladies. And not all old woman are depressed. The one sucking Grant's face off last night was enjoying life pretty damn well. And I'm almost positive she lost her husband.

"You better watch your mouth, kid," Solomon spat. His face was strong, set jaw and cold eyes. He was furious, no doubt. This is his Institution. His primary goal was and is to teach us discipline and manners. I don't know how that fixes anything, but it's his goal and he's not going to give up.

Sam nodded his head so fast I was waiting to see if it would snap off or not. Sergeant Moore called us to attention once again, Grant still doing his time, and we waited for further instructions like the good little robots we are.

"Showers. Ten minutes each. Bobby, Drake, you're coming with me." Porter and I gave each other smug looks as we walked away with the group of boys, leaving the two to what should be our fate. And Grant. We left him to his death with Mr. O. Whether it be by heart malfunction or cannibalism, the boy was done for either way.

I gave one last look behind me, but the person I was looking for disappeared.

•~|~•

"Welp, I see no reason we shouldn't." The guys and I were jogging the school perimeter (including the how ever many acres the forest of trees were, and inside the fence of electricity and razor wire) and Nick began explaining his 'clever' plan of hacking into the school system and all the Sergeant's emails to find out who this mystery girl is and what her purpose is for invading this all boys jail house.

Jonas wasn't too keen on the idea. Which is pretty pathetic, you know, considering the reason he's here is for hacking into his last school's system, not to mention his town's mayor's email and the Governor of Ohio's daughter's Facebook and Twitter accounts. I think he got into NASA's system too, but I'm afraid to ask about that. (Jo doesn't like talking about his powers. When we ask, he goes Hulk or some shit like that.)

"No. I refuse. I don't want to die like Grant. I'm too young and, unlike you, haven't done anything bad involving physical abuse to deserve death." We've been jogging for about an hour now and even for me, it was getting to be too long. We had sweat running down out backs and chest, making our gray tee's almost completely saturated in the salty liquid. Sergeant Moore lead the group while three others took the back and side to make sure no one tried to run away.

We weren't near any of the three and were a good distance from any other 'student' so no, people couldn't hear out conversation. Don't be stupid. The others were too focused on not passing out and falling into a crazy, time obsessed rabbit's hole. Or maybe that was just me. My Barbie obsessed cousin forced me to watch Alice in Wonderland one too many times when we were kids. I think it's made me paranoid.

"You fucking hacked into a teenage girl's Facebook account dude. That's worse than the President's secret service system. That's worse than stalking your next-door neighbors _cat_." Well, I'd assume that'd be worse.

 _Have you done that before, Nick?_

I only thought that though. I didn't know if I wanted the answer to it or not.

"Dude, I think anything would be worse than stalking a cat," Port laughed, "If you stalk a cat, then you really need to get a life. And some mental help." Nick rolled his eyes, mumbling a 'whatever' though the blush on his face did _not_ go unnoticed.

"I still think it's a good idea. She's hot. I want to see if there are any pictures of her anyway. You know, just incase we need them for anything." We looked at Nick, not really sure what to make of what was coming out of his mouth. Jonas finally spoke, probably for all of us who seemed to be speechless.

"Do you have a stalking record? Have you violated a restraining order? Is that why you're here? From stalking cats and teen girls?" Jonas received a dirty look, one that, if this were anything supernatural, probably would have killed him.

Truth be told, none of us actually know why Nick is here. He doesn't talk about it. At all. And this isn't Oprah, so we never made him talk about his problems or lack thereof. Instead, we just let him figure his shit out by himself. Which isn't hard. Guys don't talk about feelings, or... _stuff_. Girls do. And it's weird. Why the fuck would you get a group of friends over for the night to talk about personal shit like bleeding vaginas or family malfunctions? My Barbie obsessed cousin did that a lot. I was over once when she had one of her squealy friends over. They talked about really creepy stuff. Stuff that made me scared to sleep at night.

"I still think it's a good idea." Nick grumbled before picking up speed to get away from our still weirded out stares.

"Let's all pretend these last minutes didn't happen." My suggestion was agreed with, and the rest of the jog was done in silence.

For the most part.

It wasn't even ten minutes before there was loud yelling from Sergeant Moore and then havoc.

What happened was an attempt breakaway. A group of wannabe rebels decided a few days ago that they were going to try and run away. Kind of like a group escape with a hint of everyman for himself type of deal. They all run at the same time so it was harder for all of them to get caught. Except they didn't think about the security boarding the outsides and patrolling the woods.

"Hey! HEY!" Sergeant Moore and the other three began yelling for the seven boys to get 'their pathetic useless asses back before they shot' and ran after them deeper in the woods. "We've got runners in the southeast woods. About seven of them. Keep a look out!" His voice continued to fade the further he ran. Not soon after, a few other guys decided to make an attempt escape, but instead of running, they climbed tall sturdy trees to wait out the guards and Sergeants.

Sirens soon rang through the air, a mixture of warning and distress. Some guys began yelling at more idiots who thought they had a chance, warning them that whoever gets caught is going to have hell to pay. None of the runaways cared though. This place sucks. Not only does our education consist of everything _but_ what will help us at least make a little something of our future, but the men who work here seem to have forgotten that we have feelings and what they say actually _does_ hurt sometimes. They make us feel worthless here. More so than we already think we are. How the hell does that make us become 'better people'? It only makes us care less for our lives and what happens in them.

Us smarter brained individuals continued the jog, knowing there were more than two dozen other men with big guns throughout the woods and no doubt more coming.

"Dammit, Rodney." Ah, Rodney. Now it all makes sense.

Rodney, in short, was an idiot that had too high of expectations for himself. He thought he was a tough kid when, in fact, his baby sister could beat him to a bloody pulp. We all know that, so how he got those six others to leave with him is beyond me. Thanks to him, at least fifty guys from the West wing were now missing.

We got back twenty minutes later, and all of us were gasping for air. Grant could be seen doing a series of shit I couldn't even look at without wanting to pass out. He threw up at one point. We didn't even have to look. We all heard it.

"Oh my _God_." That was his cry about every five minutes. I had half a mind to tell him not to blame God. That it was his fault he was in this mess. But I don't think I could get words out without blowing chunks as well.

"All right, fifty push-ups, one hundred jacks, and you're free for lunch." Sergeant Moore was still looking for the kids, so this other man, Sergeant Ford, took his place. And thank all our lucky stars he did. Sergeant Ford was a lot easier on us than the others.

•~|~•

I'm not quite sure what our lunch consists of. I vaguely remember regular school's food. How gross we thought it was and how we all refused to eat it and at one point boycotted the whole thing. That greasy fake frozen food sounded like heaven whenever I looked at his pig slop.

I was lost in thought, what I was thinking about I can't remember so it obviously wasn't important, when I felt a nudge on my shoulder.

"Dude, there she is." Hearing the 'she' my eyes wasted no time to begin searching for this girl.

Now, I know what you're thinking and I'd like you to stop. I have not developed feelings for this person. Not only have I not even met her, but if I _were_ to actually develop feelings, no matter the timespan in which we properly meet, the world might as well be ending. I don't do feelings. Feelings make you weak. Look at what happened to my mother. She's insane- emotionally. The woman can't even leave the house with out fearing for what ever the hell it is that she's afraid of and it's all because of the man half of my DNA came from.

No. I simply wanted to figure out what her deal was and why she randomly popped up out of no where.

"Look at her," Grant sighed. He was still sweating and slightly out of breath, but that's what intense punishment gets you. Being winded even though you ended half an hour ago. "She's so cute, Man. Like a kitten."

"A neighbor's kitten?" I asked. Nick scowled at me, I, in return, gave him a sly smirk. Grant was completely lost and confused, but at least this time he had an excuse.

"Huh? I don't know, sure I guess. I don't see why that makes a difference though."

"Well, some people like to stalk neighbors' cats. I just wanted to make sure this chick won't need to get a restraining order on any of us." Nick flipped me off while Port and I chuckled. His temper was fun to play with.

"Shut up, Zach." I ignored him, already bored of my torment I blessed my friend with, and began eating whatever this stuff was. Grant was still looking at the girl like he wanted to kiss her cheek and give her a big lollypop which, to be frank, creeped me out almost as much as the conversation I sadly heard between my Barbie obsessed cousin and her friend.

I nudged him with my foot, grabbing his attention.

"Are you going to fucking eat her? Stop staring at the chick like a fucking pedophile." As I said this, Solomon stood up and yelled a loud 'hey' in which we all shut the hole in our face to avoid ending up like Morning Grant.

"My niece will be staying with us for the school year," He explained, "The only reason I find it important enough to tell you this is because I want you to know that if any one of you touch her or do anything with in a fifteen foot radius of her, you won't like the consiquenses. She is here as a guest and a guest only. Touch her, you will _all,"_ he took this moment to scan the whole cafeteria with a threatening stare _,_ "regret it." I looked to the right of Solomon where is niece sat with an awkward out of place look. Her ankles were crossed, the right one in front which showed off her ankle bracelet. I let out a small chuckle to myself. The thin silver accessory just laid so delicately. I was surprised it wasn't breaking off just from the pull of gravity.

I examined the rest of her while everyone slowly got back to their conversations, my eyes taking in every inch of her body. Small hands that were folded neatly in her lap, very obvious collarbone, long neck that, if she didn't look so damn innocent, I would practically eat. When I reached her face, my eyes lingered on her worried mouth, lower lip softly taken in by her teeth- which I noted were too white to be natural. The girl's nose was small, the bridge sported a bump that made the slope un even. If I were Grant, I'd say it was, and is, adorable. But I'm not him. So I won't.

I was just getting a good look at her eyes that were casted downward when she looked up. She didn't see me at first, and even if she did it wouldn't have stopped me from staring. But she didn't, and that's why it was so funny when her scared orbs actually caught me after a minute or two of roaming around the room. And if her eyes weren't wide and scared then, they surely were once ours became locked.

Blue.

That's what really went through my head when I focused on the color. Not pretty. Not sexy. Not _adorable_ (Definitely not that). Just blue. And it almost made me loose my breath. And not in any weird way either. They were just so shocking. Like, bright sky type of shade, but also a stormy shade. I couldn't really place the shade at the time and I still can't to this fucking day. They just looked so... _different_. I hate different.

We were still looking at each other. I don't know if it was like a silent contest to see who would look away first or if she was just acting like a deer in the headlights. I didn't know and I didn't care. Instead of worrying about it, I decided to shoot her one of my signature smirks- the one I give to girls at the club- which was followed by a wink. The girl looked away with a light blush and began fiddling with her hands. Her awkwardness only made me want to laugh.

 _Oh. She's going to be fun to mess with._

I looked at Nick who shoved a spoonful of alien food into his big mouth, then to Port who was sneaking glances at the girl, then to Jonas and Grant who were having a conversation about something that looked to be stressing Grant out. (Jo was probably using big boy words.) They all seemed to be in their own worlds so I tried to be discreet and kick their shins from under the table to quietly get their attention so no one would know we'd be talking about something we shouldn't, but of course Grant had to make a big deal about it.

"What do you want, Zach!?" He snapped (a little too loudly), "Can't you see we're talking? Go bother someone else will you?" His outburst gained the attention of a few people near by, they looked at us like we were freaks or something. Grant and his girly overdramatic ways are definitely freaky, but I can assure you I'm more normal and good looking than them. People can never mind their own business.

I glared at him but spoke in a quiet whisper once the nosy kids turned back to their non-existent friends.

"We're getting into Joe's account. This weekend. No club, just info." Jo was about to protest, but I gave him a look that said 'can it before I make you' and started explaining why I all of the sudden cared about Nick's plan.

•~|~•

After lunch, the day went on pretty normally. Thank God. I wasn't really in the mood for anymore surprises. Two of the boys from earlier still haven't been found. I only know that because I heard some guards asking each other about where they haven't checked yet. None of us talked about it. We didn't really care and gossip is for fourth graders.

So until about midnight, things were as they should be. Boring, uneventful, and full of yelling and sweat.

Like I said. Until about midnight.

I woke up around eleven thirty. The phone I got last night was still pretty well charged, but I decided to keep it in the room just incase I got caught sneaking out of the room.

Port was in his bed, snoring like the dog he is, but I didn't bother to wake him up. I wanted time to myself. To think. My mind was full of random things running from my public school days to just last week. But what I mostly thought about was my Mom. A sissy thing to keep me awake at night, but it was true.

Aria. That's her name. And boy was- _is_ \- she beautiful. Nuts, crazy, emotionally unstable, yes. But she was also the best mom ever. She was everything to me and vise versa. And I fucked it up. Just like my father. I left her alone for no one to care for her. I was thirteen, I didn't know better, and now that I'm older, I've come to the harsh realization that what I did not only effected me, but it also hurt her. She'd cry. At night, she'd cry and I'd sleep in bed with her. No words passed to each other. I'm not really sure what about, and I don't think I ever will really know. Part of me thinks it's because of my father but another part only blames me and my screwed up idea of fun.

After twenty minutes of mindlessly roaming the long dull halls, I decided to turn around and head back to my room. When I turned a corner, a small body ran into me.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry!" The voice was not male. It was way to high. Which could only mean one thing.

I looked down at the person, my eyes wide and heart on overdrive from fear that it was someone important or an idiot that thought he could turn me in. When came to my senses, I realized it was the girl, Solomon's niece whose name I still don't know.

I let out a relieved and aggravated sigh but said nothing to the girl. Instead, I covered her mouth with my hand and looked around for a place to hide, coming up with nothing but closed bedroom doors. The girl tried talking, but when I didn't remove my hand, she gave up and began to struggle.

"Stop, girl." She didn't, only struggled harder. In response to her inability to listen to simple instructions, I pushed her against the wall, my body pressed tightly against hers to make sure she didn't escape.

The girl was still struggling, her hands pulling at mine in desperation for me to let go. She got a few kicks to my shin and even left marks on my arm from pinching it, so I used one of my legs to pin hers against the wall any grabbed her wrists with my free hands and held them to my chest.

"I'm not going to kill you, so please for the love of all things good and pure, please stop acting like I'm going to kidnap you." When I was sure she was done with her hissy fit, I removed my hand from her mouth but kept her wrists pinned to my chest.

"What do you want?" Her voice was small and intimidated when she asked. The fear in her big blue eyes and quiet voice was evident even though I just told her I wasn't going to hurt her. I rolled my eyes but kept a firm set jaw and cold eyes. My aggravation needed to be shown. I couldn't just play nice because she looked like a puppy. No. I'm not that weak.

"I want to know what you're doing out so late roaming the halls," I admitted, "You don't know what these guys are capable of. What the hell do you have to do so late at night that makes you even think about walking these halls?" The girl bit her lip and sighed.

"Exactly." She breathed. I watched as her strange colored eyes roamed my face and chest, going up and down several times. Just to make her uncomfortable, I pressed myself harder to her as a smirk formed on my lips. It was pretty dark, but the spotlights outside are were bright enough to shine through the windows that are placed high enough so no one can get out of them. It was still no better than natural moonlight, but at least I could see when needed on out weekly getaways.

"Like what you see?" I whispered in her ear. The girl took a small intake of breath that only added to my humor.

And then she started shaking.

"Uh, are you okay?" I quickly pulled away from her small frame that I realized was only covered in a light pink nightgown. Her eyes were wide, scared- no, terrified. She looked like she's seen a ghost or something. And if I were an honest kid, I would admit that I was kind of worried.

"U-um, I- You-" And then she ran. I don't know how with all the shaking she was doing, but she did, and boy was she fast. I guess she has a right to be afraid of me. I _did_ tell her she doesn't know what the guys here are capable of. That includes me. I very well could be a killer. After all, those handful of annoying kids didn't end up in the hospital all by their selves.

For all I cared, she could think I'm some assassin working for some terrorist organization. What she did and didn't think of me was the least of my worries. Sure, I was curious about her, but that's about as good as it gets. I like knowing things. There's nothing wrong with curiosity- even if it _did_ kill the cat. Nick has probably killed cats before too. It's not like I'm going to stop hanging out with him.

I walked back to my room before I find myself running into anyone else, and laid on my bed with my hands behind my head.

One more year. One more and I'm done. I couldn't wait. I _can't_ wait. The only thing I'll miss are the gun practices. Every Thursday we get half an hour of gun training. No one questions it. It's fun and relaxing. Not even Grant thought about ruining our small chance of peace.

But as I thought about my one last year, I couldn't grasp my mind around if I felt happy or sad that I get to see my Mom again. I can't face her. Not after what I did to her. I'm a horrible excuse for a son.

Now I sound like a fucking girl.

•~|~•

 **A quick note on the shooting in Oregon and about my faith~**

I'm a Christian, and to see another shooting- in a college none the less- targeted towards those who share my faith, I can honestly say that I am appalled and disgusted... But not surprised. Shocked at the fact there was a shooting, yes, but not surprised that this man was targeting Christians

To my friends and amazing readers, I want you to know that God is real. The holy war is real. The rapture, the anti-Christ, the false prophet. It's all real.

Guys, Jesus is real. God, out Creator is real. The Holy Spirit within me can be within you. All you have to do is repent- ask Jeuss for the forgiveness of your sin and live your life to glorify Him. He DIED for you. He's willing to forgive you!

I'm saying this, because if Jesus were to comeback tonight to take His people (Those whom have been saved by Him) I want to be able to see you there too.

I care about you and all of my other brothers and sisters in Christ care for you too. We want to to become saved and God wants to save you.

Love to all of you.

~Summer

 **A/N: GUYS I'M SO FREAKING HAPPY RIGHT NOW! Thank you all so so much for the reviews! I love reading what you guys think of this book. You're all so uplifting and amazing! I can never thank you enough. I seriously have the best readers ever! XD**

 **Shout Outs:**

 **Guest** : Well, thank you. Thank you very much *attempts Elvis' voice and jig*

 **Mimi** : Cute name ;P Well I hope this stays good(e). I'm so relieved you like the chapter length. I didn't know if it was too short or too long or what.

 **Teenage Gallagher Girl Spy** : Thanks! Phew! The guys POV is kind of hard so I'm happy you think it's good.

 **gsmart** : I'll try not to! Pinky promise! I hope this post was soon enough :D

 **Lululucy** : Your name reminded me of I Love Lucy. I'd say 'I don't know why' but it's obvious why... yeah... ANYWHO! lol, your review made my day. It's adorable! Thank you so much for taking your time to read it! I would LOVE to update 50 chapters everyday! Thanks for the sweet review!

 **ElleJJ** \- You're welcome for making you laugh and weird out your cousins. XD You're not stupid for not realizing who I am. It probably would have taken me a good week. I'm a slow individual. There's not much intelligence that happens up in my small brain.

 **Shadowhuntinggallaghergal** : Holy crap was that complicated to type. Your name almost gave me an aneurism. Do you know how many times I had to retype it?! Goodness! Thanks for reading and reviewing! I really hope this chapter didn't suck for you.

 **Guest** : THANK YOU! I UPDATED! XD

 **Lovewords** : Frickin'... Gosh dang it you and your freaking reviews. Update Tales of the Sea so I can outdo your freaking amazing essay! I will say no more. My words are kept for a review on your amazing book.

 **LifeisGoode** : Thanks! I do hope you like this story as it goes on. I'm glad you liked the fact that BT isn't an assassin school. I hope you like the Zammie in later chapters.

 **Lookn' For Treble: Megan Trainer**. All About That Bass. Am I the only one who thought that when I saw her name guys? Lol, thanks! I was hoping I didn't butcher it.

 **Fuk-Life-Sucks-Like_Sluts000** : I cant begin to tell you how much just seeing your name brightens my day. Idk why. It just cracks me up. WELL I'M SO HAPPY THAT YOU THINK THIS IS AMAZING. THANKS FOR THE REVIEW AND I HOPE THIS UPDATE DIDN'T MAKE YOU HATE THIS STORY!

 _My updates will be every Wednesday guys, so keep watch on that day._

**Some things to review:**

 **1- Tell me if you liked it or not and what you didn't like about it.**

 **2- what do you think of Zach, the boys, and the boy POV**

 **3-Ideas or anything you may have for this book. I might use them if I think it fits. Because I've seen your ideas for all my other books on my other account and you guys are very clever.**

 **4-Who you would like to see more and less of.**

 **5- Do you really read the whole chapter or just look for anything Zammie?**

 **6-whatever else you want to say about this chapter and over all story.**

Review please! I love reading what you guys have to say and it's really motivating **! plus, I like making friends with you guys... (how much do you wanna bet I just scared half of my readers away? ...So I like making friends... sue me.)**


	4. You Know This Isn't Camp, Right?

**Follow me on Twitter: LoveToWrite16 (SummerTime/H.F.G)**

 **Unedited so beware. Thanks for reading! Review or PM your thoughts please and thank you!**

•~|~•

It's now Wednesday. The day really has no significance whatsoever, but I felt like I should at least tell you the day of the week just incase you really wanted to know.

So it's Wednesday, two days after Joseph Solomon's niece popped up like an unexpected zit. The annoying one. The one right on the tip of your nose that seems to only get bigger as the days go on. Yeah, this girl is like that. Sudden, unexpected, and very annoying. (And by the way, just to make things clear, I have never ever in my eighteen years on this earth have a first hand experience of a zit like that. Porter did during his early puberty stages. I called him Rudolph all through out December just because of it. Which, in a way, was fitting and mind-blowingly clever. Port didn't think so.)

It's not like the girl is annoying on purpose. I guess I have to defend her somewhat since she hasn't done anything worthy for my dislike of her. So naturally, I waited for a while to find something about her that _irritates_ me. You know, something that really shoots a nerve that makes my sanity hit the gas and shoot up a wall. Which is nothing. And that's what annoys me. Think what you may, I don't really care, but to make it clear to all of you I would like to point out the very important fact that it is _not_ the same thing. Really, it isn't. When annoyed, it's just you having that moment where you don't want to deal with that certain but you don't hate them or wish death upon them. Irritating is like that kid you despise so much. The one who constantly breaths down your neck, assuming you're his best friend or something, not realizing you actually want to kill him every time he opens his mouth to say 'hi'.

"Hi, Zach-Attack." This. _This_ is what I mean when I say irritating. And it's not _just_ because of the fact that Floyd decided to even speak to me for no reason. It's more because of the fact that where he wanted to bother me was in a place that no male should be bothered.

I was taking a piss in a urinal. And my bladder was full to the max so I knew it was going to take at least ten seconds for me to actually be done. Ten seconds is quite long enough for the boy with shitting problems to start up a conversation. (In the bathroom nonetheless)

"Have you seen Sergeant Solomon's niece? She's a hot piece of meat that one. Like, damn what I would do to get inside her pants." He couldn't even bang a girl if he tried. I didn't even have to look to know the scrawny kid as a dick the size of a peanut. Even so, the size of his manhood and his want to have sex with some chick is never something I want to think about. Especially while peeing in a urinal.

I didn't answer him. He only took that as invitation to speak once again.

"You know, Bobby and Dean got pretty beat up. Those losers. Sergeant Moore made the two due cardio for three hours straight with no stop. In the _mud_. They're _still_ throwing up. I heard they tried sneaking out. Sergeant Moore saw the evidence lying on their floor. Serves them right. They're dimwits that really need to learn a lesson or two. Dean almost broke my arm. Did you know that?" I didn't even give him a glance as I zipped up my pants and walked out the door.

 _Man, he smells._

I made my way down to Math class. The halls deserted just like last night, except the lights were on and there were no signs of tiny girl waiting to get mauled by horny bears.

Two hours everyday, we get to be like normal teenagers. Learn shit we don't care about, sleep during those annoying History documentaries, and take tests so the state can mock your behind your back if you get lower than an eighty-five. It's our small dose of the real world. We take what we can get. The more reality, the more mentally stable.

 _Zach-Attack_. I scoffed in my head. _Who even says that kind of stuff anymore? Are you five?_

Ten seconds into my inner monologue as to why seventeen year old dudes should really not call other guys names such as Zach-Attack, I heard a crash down the teacher's corridor followed by a small squeal.

A female squeal. And there's only one female that currently exists within a two mile radius of this place. Me, being the curious man that I am, decided to ditch another lesson on dissecting circles and find out what that crash was.

Now, before I go any further, I took my liberty of writing this to create a list for any of you who have a pretty good change of getting yourself thrown into a school such as mine:

 **WHAT _NOT_ TO BRING TO A DETENTION CENTER-  
(** **AKA BOOT CAMP BUT NOT REALLY):**

 **(A List By Zach Goode)**

 **• Family. This may seem obvious to most,** **but  
logic and common sense can and will deceive  
many. ****If you decide to drag your two years old barely  
even ****thirty pounds brother because you're too scared to  
walk in- ****then prepare to be ridiculed for the rest of your  
days here (and questioned by basically everyone as to why  
you're even here in the first place. Just ask Elliot Peeters).**

 **• Pets. (Really. Please refrain from bringing your  
goldfish to any detention center. I know you may feel like  
 _this_ is it. _This_ is when Goldie XLV will be your first ever  
goldfish that will actually make it through the week. But  
really, you're only fooling (and making a fool of) yourself).  
**

 **• Expensive personal items – (i.e. laptop, camera, jewelry, etc.)**

 **• Weapons of any type, including pocketknives (All types. Not just  
the fancy ones with all the extra goodies on it)  
**

 **• Playing cards/dice/dominoes (Do you really think  
guys like us will want to sit down at an old table and  
play Crazy Eights or Solitaire? Didn't think so)**

I turned right, my steps long and evenly paced. There was only one door open, on the left of the long gray carpeted hallway, so I knew it was the source as to which the noise came from. That, and a little die suddenly rolled out of the room along with a hamster that was tangled in a blood red bra.

 _Oh, this outta be good._

"No, Henry, come back!" The hamster didn't listen. Instead, he continued to run towards me, the bra getting looser and looser the more he ran. I watched the little guy, Henry, scurry across the thin carpet with his stubby little legs dying to get away from this strange new place. When he ran past my foot, I crouched down to pick him up (along with the bra), standing back to my original position only to be face to face with the strange, annoyingly _non_ -irritating girl I just so happened to come face to face with just last night.

"I believe these belong to you," I held up the little guy in my right hand, twirling the bra with the other. A smirk grew on my face as I watched the girl's face turn from a shocked pale to an embarrassed red. She looked from me to the bra to the hamster, doing this for a good ten seconds before awkwardly taking the to things from my hands with a quiet "thank you". She tried to close the door on me, leaving the poor stranded die out in the middle of the hallway, but I wasn't going to let her go that easily. I was already there, so it was there where I actually take my curiosity and form them into verbal questions.

"So what's your name?" I asked as I rudely made my way into her room- that is, uninvited an obviously unwanted; trespassing, if you will. I looked around her room, examining everything and anything so I could make a decent hypothesis about her.

 _One bed_. I told myself. _One bed and a dresser._

The room was designed exactly like mine, identical except that it seemed so much larger with one dresser and bed unlike mine that had three musty old cots and small dressers that could barely even fit two pairs of socks. On her bed, there were articles of clothing folded neatly into sorted piles, a hamster ball for Henry to exercise with, and a notebook with a weird symbol on it. A night stand laid on the ground, items of random junk like Yazzie and ear buds piled around it which gave me a pretty good indication that this is what made that crashing sound. My eyes gazed back to the notebook laying peacefully on her bed. I read the three words that sat in the middle of this shield looking picture (I'm assumed it was some family or school cress), stumbling over the first word.

"The Guggenheim Academy?" Academy. Academy's are for bad kids too right? Just not as... 'strictly' run as this place? Maybe she was like me, only not male. Maybe she did some stupid stuff to and the Academy couldn't handle her rebellious streaks so they sent her here, with her uncle.

"Gallagher," She corrected, placing her hamster in a white cage full of substrate, bedding, scattered food, toys and other junk the tiny animal seems to need. "The Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. My school. Well, _was_." I nodded my head and looked around her room once more, ignoring her obvious nervous fidgeting. I also failed to mention how her nervous fidgeting reminded me of a Chihuahua- or hamster in away. Maybe that's because I had that small little animal on my mind.

 _Henry_. _Of all the things she could name it, and she chose 'Henry'._

"You do know this isn't some Happy Sunny Day camp, right?" I was referring to her many board games, cheesy romance novels, and family pictures she had scattered around the room on the floor and any standing object. The girl bit her lip and nodded while fiddling with her small hands. I noticed a ring on her right middle finger but wasn't curious enough to ask about it- _yet_.

"Yes, I know," her blue eyes glanced up at me for a second then found her school notebook to he more interesting. She cleared her throat and went on. "Well, of course I _knew_ this wasn't some summer camp. But my uncle Joe, he told me to bring stuff to do. Well, he didn't tell me to bring this type of stuff, but my friend Tina, she likes to use her unreliable knowledge to confuse people. She's like the school's human magazine- full of rumors and useless gossip type of information. She told me about these types of schools and said- well, anyways, I listened to her and somehow Henry and everything ended up coming with me." At the end of her very long and very unnecessary explanation, the girl walked out of the room to pick up the lone die. I watched her body bend down, a slight bend to her knees. Her hair crated a curtain that hid her face from the world. I also watched her as when as she walked- I won't deny that. It was small and round and, in Grant words, _adorable-_ but not really. Adorable is what you call a cat that your friend just might have the urge to stalk if you don't make him keep his distance.

"Well, thanks for that verbal essay I guess," She glared, I smirked. "You do know you have to participate in our daily 'lessons', 'I motioned air quotes when I said lesson because really, doing sit-ups is not a lesson. "right? You won't ever have time to take care of your pet or read for that matter." The girl either didn't hear me or didn't care, because she was putting her things away as I spoke and she never once answered me. Not even a grunt to show what I said made it to her ears.

"Uh, girl? Did you hear me?" I snapped my fingers after a very long wait for her to respond to my question. Still, this female species said nothing to indicate we even spoke the same language. "Gallagher Girl?" I used her school's name to maybe grab her attention but was met with silence and only silence. I left after that. Her hamster was staring at me for a very long and uncomfortable amount of time. It was like he was studying me, trying to get into my very soul with its black beady eyes.

It was creepy and nerve-racking. Two feelings I hated to possess. Especially when it came to furry animals half the size of my hand. That brings my ego down a good three bars on a scale of ten.

 _What's her name?_ That was my thought while walking to Math. I really wanted to know her name. Don't get any ideas either. I'm a curious guy, and right then, not knowing her name was aggravating.

Two hours later, I sat with Port and the guys at our lunch table. The slop today was green, red, and yellow. I assumed that maybe it was a Bolivian or even Ethiopian that was leading the food preparation today and decided to make a statement about where they came from. What that statement was is a mystery to me. This food did not look appetizing and in no way inviting.

"So I was thinking," Port spoke up after a bite of floppy beans. "Maybe we should get you a cat. That way, we can teach you to love it enough to roam these halls on its own. You know, so you can get over your stalking habit." Nick tried to ignore him, but even Grant would be able to notice the way Nick's clenched hand strangled the fork it was holding if he were actually paying attention to what was going on instead of 'what if this food disappeared right now?'. Nick's knuckles turned white but his face gradually turned a darker shade of red.

 _Holy shit_. I thought to myself, watching him begin to slightly shake in rage. He was about to erupt like some volcano. I've never seen Nick this mad. It was a sight I'd rather _not_ have be directed towards me.

"Uh, Port I think that's enou-"

"But just the cat okay? Joe's niece is at the top of the Stay Away or Else list. The 'or else' being or else Joe will kill you." Grant continued to shovel food in his mouth, Jonas was doing something in his computerized brain, and Port just wore a smug look as he and Nick stared at each other. Port stared, anyway. Nick still looked like he was ready to explode.

"Would you _shut the hell up_ before I fucking _beat_ you?" His voice, the way it was deeper than usual-dark- it sent shivers up my spine. He wasn't even talking to me and I was ready to run for the hills. Port sat on the other side of the long rectangular table right across from Nick who's eyes were as dark as his voice. He looked away, fearful, finally understanding that Nick was getting really, really pissed.

"Take a damn joke would you?" He mumbled. After that, no one spoke. We just ate and breathed.

Then Jonas decided to speak.

"I heard some guards talking," He explained. "They'll all be out in the woods and around town except for one man at each wing. Tonight. Eight guys are still missing." We just stared at him, waiting for his brain to realize that our simple minds don't comprehend whatever he was trying to get at. This only made him roll his eyes, possibly a silent gesture that meant we are all idiots that need to find some miracle worker-or possibly a wizard- to make us not as slow as we were in that moment.

"Well?" Grant urged. The gears in his brain are rusty, old, and some off track. They can't handle this much thinking. They just can't. The Hoover Dam would break before anything in his head begins functioning properly.

Jonas huffed and crossed his arms in defeat.

" _Well_ , what I'm saying is that the guardroom will be empty. Out of use. Unoccupied." He sat up strait and leaned in, his hands on the table waiting for use to lean in as well.

We did. And he looked around our small group, a look of determination in his dark brown eyes that were somewhat hidden behind his black hair and think glasses. His determination already getting us excited.

"Tonight you say?" I asked. Jo smiled with a curt nod. We all nodded at each other with a silent agreement to meet up at our usual time. Grant, however, was still trying to figure out what 'unoccupied' means. This only made me regret ever becoming 'friends' with him. He almost got us busted last weekend. Who's to say he won't get us busted this time? Trying to spy on Solomon's niece nonetheless.

"Grant," Jo slowly spoke as if he were talking to a small child rather than a big muscly delinquent. "we're sneaking in _tonight_. Meet us at the west wing bathroom tonight at 11:55 and please, for the love of all things pure and bright in the world, don't make any noise or unnecessary comments." Grant said a small 'ooohhh' once he understood what was happening, but Jo stared at him for a while longer to make sure the dummy actually comprehended the situation. Because this is critical. Excruciatingly critical.

"I've got it, pinky swear."

•~|~•

It's exactly 12:05 AM and there's still no sign of Grant. He swore he understood the plan. He _pinky_ swore. And for the past ten minutes, we peed, took a dump, and had time to check out Night Club Dude's phone out. Actually, we didn't. Jonas just about had a panic attack when he realized what I had in my hand. When he realized what Port and I were laughing so hard at. My evidence. My blackmail. He saw, he freaked, and he took. And not just that. Instead of doing his techy magic, the piece of metal was thrown in the toilet and flushed into the sewer system just like Nemo. Except I have a feeling no worrywart fish or cool pelican with a sweet accent were about to save it.

"Hey!" Jonas ignored my protest just like he ignored basically everything else. Port was still laughing at Nick, sounding like a mix between a cow and some dinosaur. I found no humor in this. My toy was gone.

"Phones can be tracked, Idiot." Was all he said.

"She was _defiantly_ all over you man." Port mocked from where he and Nick stood at the sinks. He was doubled over in laughter, Nick just had a scowl on his face and his arms were crossed. "I didn't know you could get so dirty, Bro." Grant took this time to walk into the bathroom, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and yawning.

"Okay, Buds. Let's do this thing." Like a fly rubbing its hands together before wiping its face, Grant created friction with his own and added a tired grin.

Two minutes later, all five of us were in the dark air shaft (I lacked the phone that had a flashlight on it, thanks to Jonas' wonderful plan now known as the Throw and Flush).

"I just don't think this is necessary. If you want to know so much about her then why don't you just ask?"

"You do know this was originally Nick's idea right? I just want to know her name," I looked back at Nick. "So what's your deal? Why _do_ you want to find out useless stuff about her?" I shot a warning glance at Port, silently telling him to shut it before Nick snapped.

"I don't know, because I want to." Nick dumbly replied.

"Because that explained so much." We ignored Jonas and looked at the smelly blueprints again. It was hard to see with the little light that escaped through the slits in the vent covers. And even _that_ light was scarce since everyone was sleeping.

"Where the hell do you keep this, Port?" I brought the paper up to my nose and sniffed then looked to my left where Port was crawling next to me. Puberty did wonders for him, that's for sure. The guy looked way better than that cracky voiced kid four years ago did. His freckles mostly faded and his red hair turned almost dark brown. Even his voice changed drastically- becoming real deep that made his southern drawl move accented. And no more was that scrawny kid that could be easily snapped with two fingers. Over the years of excessive weight lifting, running, and other various exercises, his chicken limbs became defined with muscles- and lots of them.

"Behind the toilet." I wouldn't have been so grossed out by his reply if it wasn't for the fact that I know what happens in the bathroom, and sometimes things end up behind the toilet. And it's _not_ just the moth balls that chewed their way through sections of this thing. _Things_ end up behind the toilets. _Floyd_ things.

"Fuck, _why_?" My disgusted look must have amused him, because he started quietly laughing. Nick told him to shut up, mumbling something stupid under his breath, and explained to me that the blueprint was really kept under his bed. It didn't really help me, because I'm pretty sure Nick has bugs, but it was better than thinking about what _other_ things could've been on there.

"You're an idiot, Port." Despite my annoyance, I shook my head and grinned. He's an idiot, but probably the best idiot out there. With out him, I would've lost my mind within the first year here.

"Turn right. Left goes to the kitchen." Port and I looked back at Grant who shrugged with a confused look. "What? I get hungry and the kitchen has a secret stash of human food. Like brownies. And cookies."

 _And you're just now telling us?_

A mental note was written in my head to give shit to him later about keeping his knowledge about all things delicious and fattening from us.

The sound of our knees, toes, and hands landing on the aluminum shafts made noise every time they made contact with it. Other than that, we were silent the rest of they way to the computer room where all things electronic were stationed. Jonas looked to be in his prime the moment we all landed foot in the bright room.

Lights were everywhere. Red, blue, orange, yellow. Not to mention the number of wires and computers and video screens. It looked like some secret spy facility. Futuristic even. If I were still a child, I'd waste no time to run to one of the black cushiony rotating chairs and act like I was ready to track down bad guys.

"Okay, ten minutes and then we leave. I'm not taking any chances. Well, no more than I am now." Jonas grumbled and quickly got to work starting with sitting down in a large chair in front of a large computer.

And then he typed.

And typed.

And typed.

The only interesting that happened was random beeping and flashing lights. A spider crawled on Grant's shoulder at one point. Watching him flail his arms and squeal like my Barbie obsessed cousin all the while knocking over a bunch of paper is something I could watch over and over again and never once getting bored of it.

Jonas' reasoning for doing this tonight was because of the simple fact that there would be no guards around. Yet he still have himself a ten minute time limit. Yet twenty minutes later, we were standing around, watching and waiting and, at one point, drooling.

"How long is this going to take?" Nick's clipped tone spoke for everyone. This was taking forever.

"I told you ten minutes ago that I was finished. You know, when you guys were trying to kill the spider that was assassinating Grant." Jonas was uninterested in the whole conversation and it barely even began. Which is typical. Unless you have a vocabulary only old Englishmen use, there's no way Jonas would ever really try and have a conversation with you. He's like that. It's annoying, but then again, I don't think any conversation longer than three sentences from him would do me any good. I'd get two words out of it.

Which is why none of us asked how he did it when we saw he got into the Institute's system along with Joe's email. We just read.

 **9/01/15, 8:57 AM**

Joseph Solomon: **Hey, Matt. I'm getting Cam tomorrow right?**

Matthew Morgan: **No. Today. At three. What time is it over there? 9 AM? Dammit Joe, go get to the airport.**

Joseph Solomon: **Oh. Sorry.**

 _Well, that was rather disappointing._ I thought when I finished reading the email exchange.

"That's it?" I asked. Jo shook his head.

"No, sorry. That was the wrong one. But at least we know her name."

Cam. What kind of a name is that? Do her parents like taking pictures or something?

"This is the one I meant to click on." Jo moved the computer mouse to another link of messages. These were longer, and more serious. I almost felt guilty when I read what I did, but even the others couldn't stop reading them.

 **8/22/15, 10:33 PM**

Matthew Morgan: **Joe, we've been caught up in some bad situations down in Haiti. I know this is a late notice, but Rachel can't deal with worrying about Cam if we take her. She's coming down next week.**

Joseph Solomon: **What the hell are you talking about? Cam wouldn't last a day here. How long are you talking about?**

Matthew Morgan: **A year at the most. The organization lost everything in the quake. Rache and I need to go back out. Please, Joe. It's just a year. Those children aren't going to save themselves, you know.**

Joseph Solomon: **Can't Abby take he** r **? She's been around Cam more, and there's a public school ten minutes away from her house. What about her meds, Matt? I can't keep track of all her meds. And one look at the guys here she'll be running back to Virginia faster than a cheetah.**

Matthew Morgan **: Abby's in Africa for the next three weeks. No, Joe. You need to spend time with your niece. You haven't seen her since it happened. Cam's-**

"Hey, guys, guards are coming!" Nick frantically whispered from where he stood at the door.

 _Shit_.

"Fuck. Dammit Jo get off the damn thing." Port jumped up and grabbed onto the hole in the ceiling, pulling himself up with the rest of us following. Jonas logged off the computer, making sure everything looked as how it did when we got there.

"Hurry, Jo!" I whispered. He grabbed two sheets of paper, picked up the cover, and jumped up. Port and I grabbed his arms to pull him into the vent.

We sat above the room, catching our breaths from the sudden rush of fear. No guards came. Not one. But it was the very fear of getting caught that decided for us that we were to never go back in there again. For anything.

"Is this what you feel like when you stalk people, Nick?"

•~|~•

Nick refuses to even so much as look at Porter. It's as if the southern guy doesn't even exist. I, for one, find their whole little fight childish and immature.

"How long do you think this will last?" Grant asked me the during breakfast later that day. All events from early this morning ignored. We couldn't hang onto what happened. It was a pretty scary moment- almost getting caught. If we dwelled on that fear though, someone would have at least semi-caught on. We're a closet-knit group of friends. That's unusual at a place like this. If we were all showing the same anxiety- Bobby and Dean would definitely rat us out.

I stabbed an egg and shrugged my shoulders.

I didn't care about Nick's existent or non-existent stalking record or Ports reading at the moment. I was too occupied thinking of the girls name. _Cam_. Is that shirt for something or did her parents really like photography sand just thought it was cute? I wasn't even expecting 'Cam'. I was ready to see the name Lilly or Heather biome thing sweet and delicate. But Cam?

As as if hearing my thoughts, 'Cam' stood up from her spot at the staff's table. She took one last bite of her toast that was smothered in grape jelly before she took her tray to the trash. I watched as she walked, tiny steps, left arm gentley swinging back and forth. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail exposing a pair of long chain earrings. They dangled whenever she moved her head and I found myself entranced. Mesmerized by just watching the jewelry move, occasionally brushing the back of her jawline.

"Dude, stop looking at her. People could get the wrong idea and Solomon would freak." I looked back down at my food.

He's right. People would get the wrong idea. And I definitely wouldn't want that.

•~|~•

 **A/N: Hey guys, thanks for all the reviews! I'd do shout outs but that takes a lot of time and this chapter was supposed to be posted a few hours ago so I need to get this thing up.**

 **As always, thoughts, concerns, tell them! Ideas you may have might get used if they fit with my plot.**

WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IN FUTURE CHAPTERS. WHETHER IT'S ON CHARACTER'S PERSONALITY, THE WRITING IN GENERAL, OR WHATEVER. ALL IDEAS SO I KNOW WHAT YOU GUYS ARE LOOKING FOR IN THIS STORY. 

Chapter length too long or too short?

 **Did you like that little list ditto thing in there? I decided to throw some of Ally's cute writing in here. But of course, I'm not as good as her. At all...**

 **Please tell me what you didn't like about this chapter so I can fix it. It would mean a lot.**

 _ **Please review. Please please review. They really do motivate me to write and i love reading what your thoughts are on my books and how you like/don't like them. I hope this chapter was okay.** _


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